To Watery Depths
by Moonrose1
Summary: Girls are found dead on the river bank of the Thames, and Sherlock Holmes and Jenny Watson know it to be murders. At the miraculous arrival of Holmes' long lost sister, Irene, they are given a new case, filled with darkness and evil never seen before.
1. A Sister Long Forgotten

This is my newest story. Sequel to 'Darker Days'. Not much else to say. Thanks for all the reviews, and I hope you enjoy this story.

Chapter One: A Sister Long Forgotten

I was ready. I was ready to conquer the enemy that was before me.

Poetry.

"Ok. Lets do this. I hide myself within my flow- Holmes are you paying attention?" I asked, annoyed. My study partner was staring out my window. Holmes tapped the pencil on the book repeatedly, and didn't even notice that I had said anything.

My name is Jennifer Watson. I'm in tenth grade, and am the best friend of Sherlock Holmes. All though right now, Sherlock Holmes wasn't paying attention to his best friend.

"Earth to Holmes? Come in Holmes? Are you there? Hey, Holmes, come on. Miss Ruipe says I'm not doing well with poetry, and need help," I said. Holmes started.

"Sorry Watson. Just thinking," he mumbled. I looked at him.

Sherlock Holmes was fifteen years old, and very smart. He was tall, thin, pale, and had long fingers. His eyes were really dark blue, and he had light brown hair. The eyes were quite possibly his best feature, and right now they told me something was wrong.

"Ok, Holmes. What is wrong. And don't try to tell me nothing, 'cause it isn't going to work," I reported. He waved his fingers at me.

"Just finish the poem," he muttered. I glared at him.

"Fine. 'I hide myself within my flower, that wearing on your breast. You, unsuspecting, wear me too-and angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower, that fading from your vase. You unsuspecting feel for me, almost a loneliness'. There. I finished the poem. Now tell me what is wrong," I asked.

"Who's it by?"

"Emily Dickinson. Tell me!"

"How old was she when she died?"

"Fifty-five. Tell me!"

"About how many poems did she write?"

"Around seventeen hundred. Tell me!"

"Persistence will get you know where. I won't tell you. What is your favorite poem of hers?"

" 'I am nobody, who are you'. And you will tell me. Please?" I begged. Holmes rose from my desk and began pacing.

"Please stop bugging me, Watson. It is a personal matter, and I do not care to divulge it in you," Holmes said. I glared at him.

"Fine. Be that way. But your sister will be most displeased that you couldn't tell me that this is the date of her disappearance," I replied, turning back to my book. Holmes whipped around.

"How do you know?" he hissed. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not that stupid. It was in the paper. Police column. Talks about a 'Miss Irene Rachel Holmes', and how she disappeared five years ago, only ten days before your mothers accident," I said. I opened my book.

" 'In this short life that only lasts an hour. How much, how little, is within our power'," I heard Holmes whisper. I smiled triumphantly.

"Spill. What is wrong," I asked one last time. Holmes looked down at the ground and then looked into my eyes.

"There isn't much point in keeping a secret, now is there? You found out about Marie, my father, Olivia, and will find out about others. So I might as well tell you of my sister," Holmes said.

I sat back in my chair and reflected about the things he had told me about. Marie Moriarty, his mother, had tried to kill me on multiple occasions on our last case. His father, Fredrick Holmes, was a jerk who didn't abuse his son, but wasn't very kind. Olivia Cardia, his French girlfriend, whom had nearly destroyed our entire friendship.

Our last case had ended rather sadly, with me in a cast, and Holmes in a coma. I still wore the cast, but Holmes had come out of the coma, with a gaping hole in his stomach, but otherwise unharmed.

Holmes sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the ceiling.

"Irene was, to begin, very pretty. She had dark brown hair, mahogany or so in color. Her eyes were green, and she was tall and smart. She was only four years older than me, and gifted in the arts. She loved to paint and write. She was fourteen when she disappeared.

"No one could figure out why she left. She had been happy at home, with a nice boyfriend and excellent grades. She had just won a two hundred pound savings bond for one of her paintings and was due to go to France that summer as an art apprentice. The police suspected a troubled girl who had run away, but I still believe there was foul play involved. No one believes me, though," Holmes finished. I sighed.

"That's sad. Did you ever find out if she... you know... died?" I asked.

"No."

"Ouch."

Holmes stood up and picked up the newspaper which sat on my desk.

"Enough bemoaning myself. She's gone. There isn't anything we can do about it," Holmes said. He flipped looked at the newspaper and then stared at it.

"What is it now Holmes?" I asked. He looked up.

"Haven't you been following the newspapers, Watson? For the past two months girls have been disappearing and showing up on the banks of the river. Another one turned up today. I say it's worth investigating, don't you?" Holmes said, obviously strained. I stared at him.

"What is it, really?" I asked. Holmes sighed.

"Remind me to never act like everything is all right around you, Watson. The girl who showed up today is Olivia Cardia."

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Olivia Cardia lay on the coroners table, her face blank and cold. Holmes stared at the dead body and lifted the sheet.

"Stupid coroner," Holmes murmured. I tore my eyes away from Olivia's face and set my eyes steadily on Holmes.

"What?" I asked. Holmes dropped the sheet.

"He says that her cause of death is that she fell from the bridge and was swept away from the current. But," Holmes pointed to Olivia's neck, "if you look here you can see bruises, showing that she was strangled before disposed of."

"Holmes!" I protested. He sounded so cruel.

"Well, it's the truth! She was murdered, Watson. Any fool can see that. Well, except for the coroner. I just want to know by whom was she murdered, and why," Holmes mused. I shrugged.

"Any evidence?" I asked. Holmes sighed.

"The river washed away the little evidence left. For now, lets go have lunch. I believe Simpson's is all right?"

******************************************************************************************

I ate the food, but hardly tasted it. Olivia Cardia was dead. True, I had hated the girl. She had nearly brought Holmes and I to hate each other, but to think that she was dead...

I stared at Holmes. Olivia had been his girlfriend. I wondered how he felt about the entire ordeal.

"Holmes, aren't you the least bit upset that Olivia is dead?" I blurted.

_Oh, brilliant Watson. Just blab out your feelings._

Holmes stared at me in shock.

"Do you really think that I could be untouched by this matter? She was my girlfriend, after all. Even if she did nearly come between us, even if she did dump me, even if she did call me a stupid git. Oops," Holmes said. He had never told me why they had broken up. I grinned.

"A stupid git, huh? I guess I'll have to remember that one. It obviously gets on your nerves," I smiled. He glared at me, but a smile betrayed him.

"You wouldn't," he whispered.

"You know I would, you stupid git," I said. His jaw dropped.

"How dare you!" Holmes declared with mock horror.

"I dare! And I shall dare again, you stupid git!" I cried. The entire restaurant looked at us, bemused.

"Well then, for the amusement of these people, let us have a duel!" Holmes said, loud enough for the restaurant to hear. 

This surprised me, I had to admit it. Holmes was usually not so... open. He normally would shudder at such a thing, but I suppose even he needed to show off his drama every once in a while.

"I except your boastful challenge! I know I could beat you!" I announced, just as loud as he. Holmes dropped his napkin and picked up his knife.

"Then to the center, fair maiden," Holmes replied. Picking up my knife, I followed.

"Shall we begin, or do you tremble at my feet?" Holmes asked. I could feel the eyes of the diners looking at how I would answer. It made me nervous, and I felt as though I was on stage. Swallowing my fears I laughed.

"You truly are a stupid git! To tremble at your feet would be to die!" I chortled. Holmes smiled.

"Then prepare to die! For you shall tremble!" Holmes called. He pulled out his knife.

"En garde!" 

The battle went on for only a few minutes. I, not being as skilled with the knife, soon fell to Holmes mercy. Before I knew what hit me, I was staring at his polished shoes. I looked up and saw his smiling face looking at me.

"Fair maiden, you have given me true pleasure. You are quite the duelist, but not nearly-gakk!"

I had jumped to my feet during his speech and pretended to stab him. The knife had slid between his arm and side, and now he lay 'dying' at my feet.

"Oh fair maiden," Holmes said in a stage whisper, "you gave me much pleasure. The speech has always been my downfall!" And with that, Holmes 'dyed'.

The restaurant broke into laughter, and even I began laughing. Holmes stood and pulled me into a bow. Finally, when the clapping had stopped, Holmes and I sat down.

"Whatever compelled you to do that?" I asked, gasping for air. Holmes shook his head.

"We all need a good laugh sometimes. Besides, we'll never get to be on stage, why not give entertainment to people at a restaurant?" Holmes asked. I continued to laugh.

Suddenly, a waitress appeared at our elbow.

"You know, if you really wanted him to fight you, 'stupid git' isn't what he dislikes the most," the girl said. Holmes' jaw dropped open and his eyes bulged.

"My name is Jennifer Watson," I said, shocked at how rude Holmes was being. True, the girl was pretty, but that didn't give him the right to stare. Especially when his girlfriend was right in front of him.

"Irene Holmes. Sherlock, do stop staring and close your mouth. You look like a fish."


	2. A Tale Untold

Ok, I'm finally over my writers block! The stupid block was sticking out of my head, I swear. I would like to say before I begin, Thanks to all those who supported me through "Darker Days". I'm really happy that you liked it, and I'm glad to work on this one. Thanks to Hannah Holmes, who wrote the first review to this story, and thanks to Goth_Flutist, who has been helping me overcome my writers block. All though, I must say that if she comes that close to swearing again in a review, I'll have to hurt her (hint, Goth, don't swear. You know I detest it). Here's chapter two, and I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Two: A Tale Untold

Holmes gaped at the girl-Irene-in astonishment, and I had to say that I agreed with him. The girl standing before us was his sister?

She was very pretty, just as he had said. Her hair fell down to her shoulders and had small curls at the end. Her hair was deep brown. Her green eyes bared no resemblance to Holmes', but I could see Marie's eyes when I looked into hers. I made me shudder to see her mother reflected in her. Finally Holmes began to speak.

"Irene? You? Here? Now? I thought-dead..." Holmes stuttered. Irene rolled her eyes.

"Come along, little brother. You remind me of a fish, I swear. I suppose we'll have to take you out back to prevent you from causing a scene. Although, you did that already, didn't you?" Irene said quickly. Unlike Holmes, this girl was accustomed to quick thoughts and rapid speeches. Holmes usually thought about his words before he said them, and spoke in smaller sentences. The- Irene, I thought, I must think of her as Irene- smiled at my stare and at Holmes constant stammering and took us into a dark alley.

Irene set herself upon a dumpster and smiled down at us.

"Kindly shut up, Holmes. You sound like a parrot who has not yet learned to speak," she pleaded down at us. Holmes jaw snapped shut and he stared at her.

"Irene?" he finally said. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I believe we've already established that, Sherlock," she verified. Holmes took a tentative step toward her.

"Where have you been?" he asked carefully. She sighed.

"Really, we sound like lovers. 'Where have you been all my life?'. God, I hoped to prevent that. However, I'm pleased to note that you scored well in the girlfriend department. Miss Watson here is a lovely specimen of a lady," Irene remarked. I felt myself blush at her kind, yet odd, words. Holmes glanced at me.

"Well, I suppose she is. I never really looked. At any rate, you've been to America. Your careless use of the English language confirms it," Holmes declared. Irene rolled her eyes again. She seemed well versed on that.

"Can't you just say I use slang like there is no tomorrow?" she asked. Holmes shook his head.

"Definitely America," Holmes murmured under his breath. Irene looked at me.

"Tell me about yourself Jenny. How long have you and Sherlock been dating. And how did it come by that your arm should be in a cast?" she asked. I looked at her in confusion.

"Why do you think Holmes and I are dating?" I asked. She sighed.

"Major duh. Sorry Sherlock. Isn't it obvious. Sherlock here did not deny it when I stated that you were a lovely girlfriend. Therefore, you must be lovers," she explained. I decided to challenge her.

"How do you know we're not just two ships passing in the night?" I pressed. She laughed.

"I'm not nearly as smart as my younger brother, but it really was obvious. 'Two ships passing in the night', as you put it, would not feel comfortable enough around each other to pull off that marvelous jest. Very dramatic, by the way. Now please, answer my questions," she continued. I frowned.

"Fine. I met Holmes around September or October of last year. We've been 'dating' for about two weeks. We, however, don't call it dating. It is more of an unspoken agreement. My arm is in a cast because we finished a case that didn't end well," I answered. I neglected to tell her that Marie had done this to me, however, because she did not yet know about her mother. Holmes intervened at my mild conversation with Irene.

"Now, ladies, before we get into what color you like to paint your nails, I desire to find out why my sister left, and where she went. The state, to be exact," Holmes acknowledged. Irene frowned and leaned up against the wall.

"I should of known, my dear younger brother, that there really was no use in trying to put a bloodhound off the scent. As you have requested, I shall tell you the lengthy tale of my disappearance. And it was not foul play as I had made it out to be," Irene commented. As she closed her eyes in concentration, Holmes and I found an old packing crate to sit on. And so Irene began.

THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY IS TOLD AS THOUGH JENNY IS WATCHING A MOVIE.

__

London, 1996, Ten days before Marie Moriarty is hurt in the car accident...

"Mother, may Sherlock and I go play outside?" a younger Irene asked. Her gorgeous mother looked up from her quilt work.

"Sherlock is asleep honey. You know that," Marie answered gently. Irene sighed. Her fourteen year old mind yelled in her ear. _He's sleeping to avoid you. You know that too._ Irene stood and went into the living room and sat next to her father.

"Good day Father. I trust that the newspaper fares good news?" Irene asked. Her father grunted. Irene continued to try to talk to her monosyllabic father.

"Does it say when Mother's new opera opens?" Irene asked. Fredrick Holmes looked up from the newspaper.

"Do I really care? Go bother your brother. He always listens to you," her father stated. Irene stood once more. _Father doesn't care about how I feel. Sherlock never actually listens. He acts as though he does. Nobody cares about how I feel. No one in the entire world. Except Robert. He loves me._

Irene smiled at the thought of her boyfriend. Robert was a sweet young man, who loved her more than life itself. She walked over to the phone in her tiny hallway. As she quickly dialed his number, she thought about what to ask him to do. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?" came his pleasantly accented voice. Irene smiled at the sound of it.

"Hello Robert. Would you like to go see a movie today?" Irene asked. A soft grunt came from over the phone.

"Uh, sorry luv. I'm a bit busy," he said. Irene sighed.

"You're lying. What is it really?" she asked. 

"Look, Irene, I don't think we should see each other anymore," Robert began. Irene dropped the phone.

__

Robert is dumping me? I was right the first time, nobody loves me. Not even my boyfriend!

Irene carefully picked up the phone and dropped it onto the table. She closed her eyes and walked upstairs. She began crying as she lay down on her bed.

_The world doesn't want me. Death is so much better. I'll kill myself, tonight, when the family is at Mother's opera... Carmen, isn't it? Doesn't matter to me. A gun might be good... no, to loud. A knife? To bloody, they'd never be able to get the blood out of the carpet. Well, that leaves hanging or drowning. Hanging is to painful and takes forever. If I jump off a bridge, I might get lucky and get knocked unconscious and not feel myself die. So, I'll jump off a bridge, _Irene thought. A low knock came from the door and she looked up.

Her ten year old brother stood there in the doorway. She waved her hand, permitting him entrance.

"Hello Irene. What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked. Irene looked at her sweet brother.

"Nothing is wrong Sherlock. Robert broke up with me," she replied. She received a sympathetic look from him as he sat down on her bed.

"I'm sorry. I know that you loved him," he sighed. Irene smiled and pulled her brother to her.

"Sherlock, would you miss me if I left?" she asked. She needed to know. Sherlock looked at her.

"Are you leaving?" his childish voice asked. Irene thought a moment.

"No, I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. Just answer my question!" she answered, growing impatient.

"Yes, I would. Don't leave Irene. Mother and I would miss you. Maybe even Father," he said. Irene hugged him.

"Go tell Mother that I won't be going to see Carmen tonight. I don't feel well," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse as she made up her decision. Sherlock nodded and jumped off the bed. As he reached the doorway he turned around and looked at her.

"I love you Irene," he said and then ran down the stairs.

_No he doesn't. You know he doesn't. Why would he love a scumbag like you?_ The nasty voice in her head screamed at her. But she heard the nice one too.

_A child's innocence is their greatest gift. You know your brother is incapable of lying._

_Sure he is. That's like saying that pigs fly._

Irene sighed as the voices in her head did battle. Finally, the nasty voice destroyed the kind one and turned to her.

_I'm leaving. Tonight. For America. I can make it seem as though someone took me. Some fake blood, the scuffle signs... it will all be elaborately staged. I won't actually kill myself. For Sherlock's sake. No one will ever guess. And then you can watch the world in peace, with no one pretending to love you. With no one saying that they do and then leaving you. You'll be left alone with your thoughts, and you can figure things out. _

"Yes," Irene said aloud, "I just need to figure things out. Then I'll come back. But they'll reject me. I can live with at least seeing their faces again."

*************************************************************************************************

Irene packed that night. A few clothes and some money. Toothpaste, toothbrush, washcloth, soap, all the essentials. Finally it came down to the hard part. She had to trick everyone that she had been taken against her will. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a dull knife that would draw enough blood to make it look as though they had hurt her. Whoever 'they' were. She went upstairs and sat in her bed, prepared to drench the sheets in her blood. As she bit her lip, she ran the knife over her wrist. Gasping as the flesh tore, she smeared the blood over the sheets. With tears in her eyes she moved the bed, ran the knife over the windowsill, added footprints with her Father's shoes. Finally, she was ready to go. She looked at her room, then walked to pick up one more thing from her dresser. The picture of her family was to dear to leave behind. Then she climbed out the window and walked toward the airport.

*************************************************************************************************

_One year later..._

Irene sat on the park bench. The birds flew through the sky. Next to her sat her teacher, Miss Richardson. Her teacher smiled at her.

"Now Rachel. The birds. Contemplate them for a moment. What do you like about them?" Miss Richardson asked. Irene looked at them.

"They can fly. They can fly far away from this world. They can leave whenever they want," she responded. Miss Richardson nodded.

"Very good. Your ideas are beautiful, but as your English teacher and friend, I must tell you that you need to stop thinking about things like that. You know that you can't fly away from your troubles. You need to confront them. Tomorrow I will help you confront your problems with your classmates," her teacher said.

That night Irene ran away again.

*************************************************************************************************

__

July, 1998

Irene walked faceless through New York. No one asked her who she was. No one tried to make her change her ideas on life. No one tried to get her to stand up to her problems. Everyone left her peacefully alone. She convinced herself she liked it like that and disappeared into the crowd.

*************************************************************************************************

__

Present

"So, Sherlock, does that answer your question?" Irene asked. Holmes stared at her.

"Yes. Come on, I need to tell you about things that have happened since you ran away," he said, standing and brushing himself off. Irene jumped down from the dumpster.

"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing Mother again. Is she well?" Irene asked. Holmes winced visibly and looked at her.

"That is one thing I need to talk to you about. Come," he whispered. Irene nodded and followed him in the general direction of Holmes' new house, leaving me to my thoughts.

It was obvious that Irene had some mental problems. She needed a psychiatrist, and a good one. Her mind didn't permit herself to believe that someone, anyone for that matter, loved her. It was sad. 

_The Holmes family tragedies continue. I wonder how she'll react when she finds out that Marie is insane and nearly killed Holmes and I. Not well, she'll view it as another betrayal, _I thought, walking home. I prayed that Holmes could handle her reaction.

So, what do you think? Is it living up to my standards? Give me ideas, flames, or constructive criticism. Also, I am now taking requests. I will write anything you want about Jenny and Holmes. If you want something, I'll work on it. I'm very flexible. I hope someone has a request, because I want to write something else. So send reviews, or e-mail me at 

kep05@excite.com

Please title the e-mail "Ideas". Otherwise I'll delete. Please, stick to telling me in reviews, I don't read my e-mail very often. Hope you all have a nice Thanksgiving!_____ Moonshine. 


	3. Unexpected Information

Third chapter! It took me a while, but I think I finally have this story laid out. Kind of. I'm making it up as I go along. I have the ending all worked out, but not the beginning. First, I want to begin by saying Thank You to everyone. I don't care if you despise what I write or love it, thank you. For what? For reading this story. Ok, enough of the sentimental stuff, lets get cracking!

Chapter Three: Unexpected Information

I slept uneasily that night, wondering how Irene would react to the fact that Marie was a killer. Of course, Holmes might just tell her she's dead. But either way, she would have to meet Charise.

Charise was a nice enough woman, with a fondness for Holmes. But she was very much like Fredrick Holmes, and would punish him easily and quickly. Half of the time Holmes would come up to me during school and tell me he was grounded because he talked during dinner. I worried that Irene would hate Charise, and I hoped she wouldn't do anything irrational.

When I got to school the next morning I met Holmes in our customary spot by the building. He stood there silently for a few minutes, until I got the courage to ask the question I knew was on both of our minds.

"How did Irene take Charise?" I asked quietly. Holmes shrugged.

"Fine," he replied.

"How did she take the fact that her Mother was gone?" I inquired. Holmes grimaced.

"Not so well. She promptly started storming about the house screaming. She said that it wasn't fair that Mother should be dead, that if anything she herself should be dead," Holmes answered. I winced.

"You didn't tell her about our little incident with Marie?" I asked. Holmes shook his head.

"No. She'll ask, though. Irene is very inquisitive and will ask who hurt your arm. And why," he muttered. I sighed.

"This is going to be tough. Did you tell her about the fact you were in a coma?" I pressed. Holmes looked up.

"Bell," he said, and began walking toward the door. I ran to catch up with him.

"Uh uh. No way. You didn't tell her?" I demanded. Holmes sighed.

"Once again I say that their is no possible way I can keep a secret from you. No, I didn't tell her," Holmes responded. I groaned.

"God Holmes. You didn't have the decency to tell her? She'll find out, you know. Women always do," I mused. Holmes chuckled.

"You're living proof of that," he laughed. I smiled.

"So what is going on after school?" I asked. Holmes looked at me.

"We must talk to Raze. To see if she's learned anything."

Raze was the leader of the Baker Street (no longer Baker Street, since they had moved) Irregulars. She spoke with a cockney accent, which I later found out was pure acting, and had bright blue hair. She was bold, and rather annoying at times. I nodded.

"What about Thomas. Raze said that he's the spy. Wouldn't he have learned more?" I questioned. Holmes nodded.

"Yes, except that he usually doesn't talk much. He relays all the information to Raze, and she promptly gives it to me," replied Holmes. I shrugged.

"I wouldn't know. I've never officially met him. Just a nod in passing."

"Well, you'll meet him later today. See you in class." Holmes and I departed to go to class.

*************************************************************************************************

"So you're telling me this Dupin guy is an idiot?" I questioned as Holmes and I raced down the street toward the place the Irregulars stayed. Holmes waved his hand at me.

"But of course. Any fool could have seen that the letter would be placed in the letter holder. It made me ill just to think that he guessed on half of the things he spoke of. He's absurd," Holmes responded. He stopped at the alley way that we had been looking for.

"Here we are. Knock thrice, tap twice," recited Holmes. I looked at the wooden door dubiously.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I wondered aloud. Holmes rolled his eyes.

"Of course. Here." Holmes reached over and knocked three times, then tapped on the door twice. Then the door swung open, much to my surprise.

We entered through the doorway and I looked around. We had entered a small, dingy place, with boxes galore. There were cobwebs and dust everywhere, and it looked as if no one lived there.

"Holmes, are you absolutely positive that this is the place? Are you sure you might not have been mistaken?" I asked. Holmes snorted.

"Really Watson. Use your eyes. There are clothes in the corner, and you can see hair scrunchies, the kind both Jimmy and Raze use. And the fact that Roberto is standing in the corner proves it," Holmes resolved.

Indeed, the boy stood in the corner. He stepped out as soon as Holmes announced his presence and said something in rapid Arab (A.N. What do Arab people speak? Anyone want to tell me?).

Holmes smiled. "Of course Roberto. Did Raze say when she'd be back?"

Once again, Roberto said something in the language which I did not know. Holmes nodded.

"If you don't mind, I think we'll just wait for them," Holmes reassured Roberto. Roberto nodded and went back to whatever he was doing. I looked at Holmes.

"You understand what he's saying?" I asked. Holmes nodded and pulled up a few boxes for us to sit on.

"I make it my job to understand what the Irregulars are saying. You should to," Holmes informed me. I laughed.

"Really Holmes. You know that I have no ear for languages. What did he say?"

"Well, the first time he said that Raze was out and about, and the second time he said that she was to be back anytime now."

"So we have to wait for her?"

"Yes."

And so we waited. And waited. And waited, until about a quarter past four I turned to Holmes and sighed.

"Is she ever going to show up?" I snarled. Holmes glared at me.

"She'll show up. Raze stays to the job, and won't stop until she has something to tell me," Holmes snapped. Apparently, he was getting impatient as well.

Finally, at half past four, the door was slammed open, and the profile of a girl and boy filled the doorway. Holmes rose.

"Ah, Raze, Thomas. It's good to see you. Sit down, please. We have much to talk about," Holmes stated. Raze entered from the door frame and looked at us in shock.

"Well then Mr. 'Olmes. Tis good to see ya, tis quite good. Thomas and me 'ere, we 'ave much to talk to yer about," Raze spoke in her odd Cockney accent. Holmes waved his hand at her, signaling that the pleasantries were dispersed, now to business. Raze and Thomas sat down and looked at us across the table that they had set up.

"Not much is being talked about Mr. Holmes. Someone put a lid on whatever gossip that we could have gotten to," Raze began. I was shocked to hear that her Cockney was gone, and she spoke with a pleasant sounding Welsh accent. It was carefully hidden, however, and she managed to sound like an educated upperclassman. Holmes frowned.

"Do you have anything for me to work with?" pressed Holmes. Thomas leaned forward.

"We have little, as Rachel told you. We did manage to get the names of all the girls drowned, and some possible suspects names. We're sorry Mr. Holmes, we did the best we could," Thomas said. Holmes sighed.

"Let us hear what you have," he muttered. Thomas brought forth an envelope.

"First girl dead was Sandra Nutraye. She was seventeen. The suspects for her are James Nutraye and Robert Pilisolve," Thomas read. Raze reached over and snatched the envelope from his hands.

"Second girl was Amy Tawas, age fourteen. The suspect for her is Lisa Kedsworth," Raze revealed. Thomas took the papers back.

"Third was Ashley Cadsbare. Fifteen. No suspects." 

"Fourth was Kirsten Drivigandi, thirteen. No suspects."

"Fifth and final was Olivia Cardia. No suspects as of yet," Thomas finished. Holmes gravely took the papers.

"Essentially, we have nothing. Why don't the last three have suspects?" Holmes asked. Thomas and Raze looked at each other.

"Somebody shut the people up before we could finish our questions," Raze publicized. Holmes nodded and stood.

"Thank you. You've been a great deal of help. May I keep these papers?" inquired Holmes. Thomas nodded. Holmes tossed a couple of pounds on the table.

"Go buy dinner," he flung back at them as we left the dark room.

*************************************************************************************************

"They don't even have a common link between them!" Holmes shouted, disgusted. I shrank back.

"Well, maybe somebody really did manage to shut them up," I whispered.

"I think not!" called a sing-song voice from the shadows. Holmes whirled around and out stepped Irene.

"The investigation isn't going well, I take it?" Irene sang. Holmes sighed.

"Irene, what are you doing here?" he asked. Irene frowned.

"Darling Sherlock, you're not the only detective in the family. I did a little bit of investigating on my own. They did have a common link between them, they did. You just had to go to the center of it all," Irene spat. Holmes looked down.

"I'm sorry Irene. Bit frustrated. What did you find?" murmured Holmes. Irene grinned.

"Much better. You know, back in the olden days, brothers were taught to worship there sisters, as angels," Irene stated. Holmes scowled at her.

"Irene..." Holmes growled. Irene sighed.

"All right, all right. Jeez, take a chill pill as my friends in America would say. The common link between them is..." Irene trailed off. Holmes looked at her expectantly.

"Well?" he asked. Irene looked down.

"First of all, you told me Mother was dead. Why'd you lie to me?" Irene said quietly. Holmes started and stared at her.

"Why-why do you think Mother is alive?" Holmes stuttered. Irene laughed.

"I'm not nearly as smart as you, Sherlock, but I'm not stupid. The common link between them is Marie Moriarty. They all hired her to do their dirty work. Mother's maiden name? Marie Moriarty," Irene illustrated. Holmes sighed and leaned against a building.

"Watson, care to explain?" asked Holmes. I looked at him sadly.

"She was bound to find out. Irene, you're right, Marie is alive. She is the reason my arm is in a cast. She tried to kill Holmes and I last time we saw her. She nearly succeeded in doing so. She had one of her minions poison Holmes, shoot at me, and in the final battle, he lit a fire which nearly killed both of us. He was knocked unconscious, Marie appeared, broke my arm, got into a fight with Holmes, stabbed Holmes, ran away, and left us to die in the fire," I told her. Irene stared at us in shock, then regained her composure.

"I'm sorry that I doubted that Mother was dead. She is. Marie Moriarty is not, however, and she is the common link between all the girls," Irene began again. Holmes quickly stood and 'put on his thinking cap' as it were.

"Indeed. How did you find this out?" he asked. Irene looked up at him.

"I went to the center of things, of course. I found her second in command, quite by accident. He was at a bar, and I bought him a few drinks. He identified himself as Marie's second, then after a quick round of drinks, he told me almost everything," Irene said. Holmes glowered.

"Half truths, Irene, do not suit you. What were you doing in the bar?" he asked. Irene scowled at him.

"Fine. To think I could lie to the great Sherlock Holmes. I knew about Marie, all right. She and I... were associates for a time. I left the business, however, when things got a little to warm for my taste. I didn't really do anything. I didn't even know she was a criminal. I thought she was running a respectable business," Irene admitted.

"You WORKED FOR HER!" Holmes screamed. Irene winced.

"For one month! I swear that was all! After I ran away, I went to this warehouse place. I didn't even know it was Mother! She came forward and offered me a place to stay. I agreed! I ran errands for her sometimes, went to a guy named Danny, and occasionally watched people. I only know her second because I thought he was a man friend. Please don't be angry," Irene whimpered. Holmes breathed deeply.

"Irene, when did you find out about Marie?" I piped up. Irene looked at me.

"The day before I went to America, before I ran away from England. I overheard her talking, and someone called her Marie Holmes. She snapped and started screaming that she wasn't her anymore, that she was Marie Moriarty," Irene whispered. Holmes nodded.

"I'm sorry Irene. I shouldn't have gotten so angry," Holmes told her, in high spirits again. Irene grinned.

"That is right, Sherlock, you shouldn't of. Ah, to live in the olden days. To be an angel..." Irene smiled. 

*************************************************************************************************

"Holmes, will you sit down!" I yelped. Holmes trod back and forth over my carpet. We had left Irene on her own, and we now sat in my bedroom.

"I can't sit. I must think. A man strangled those girls. He was obviously under the employ of Marie, but who is he? Water washed away all the evidence! How in the world am I to get evidence if it's gone?" Holmes snapped. I leaned back on my bed.

"Perhaps the girls were connected in some other way," I murmured. Holmes was seriously vexing me. Holmes looked at me.

"What do you mean?" he asked. I rolled over and looked at him.

"I don't know. That's your job. Tomorrow we can look for clues, all right? The riverbed has to have something," I replied. Holmes sighed and sat down in my rocking chair.

"All right," he muttered. I smiled.

"Go to bed Holmes. You're going to fall asleep on your feet," I said. No reply came. When I looked over at him, he was fast asleep in my rocking chair. I looked at him gently, pulled out a blanket from my closet, set it over him, and went to sleep.

Well, that is it so far. What do you think? Just thought you people might like some more info on Irene. More to come soon I hope. Please review. If you're going to flame me, please make it easy enough that I can bear. I'm very sensitive *sniff*. 


	4. Let Us Begin

Well, I'm on a writing bug. No more writers block! Ok, essentially I have nothing to say. So I'll repeat what I've said for a while. If you have story ideas, review and tell them to me. Remember, it has be centered around my characters (although I will make exceptions). I gave my e-mail address in Chapter Two I think, but try not to use that (Mum doesn't like me giving out my e-mail). Have fun reading this chapter!

Chapter Four: Let Us Begin

Fluffy bunnies ran around everywhere. They were nice and fluffy and...

"Watson, get up."

No, fluffy bunnies don't talk. They just hop about...

"Watson, come along. You need to get up."

I woke from my dream involving fluffy bunnies and looked at the face that loomed over me.

"Deja vu, Holmes. Just a little while longer?" I mumbled incoherently. Holmes squinted at me, then realized what I said.

"Yes, deja vu does suit us right now, but it's time to get up. You said we could look around the river bank today. Besides, we have to go to school," Holmes gently prodded me. I gasped.

"Oh my gosh! How late are we, I forgot to set my alarm! Man.... get out of here, I have to change!" I shrieked. Holmes stepped out of my room as I began to rummage through my dresser.

"Oh, by the way Watson, it's five in the morning," Holmes announced. I stopped digging through my dresser and looked at him.

"You mean to say that you got me up at five in the morning to go to school?" I rumbled. Holmes smiled mildly.

"You did say we could look around the river bank today. Oh, and don't put on your clothes yet. It is time for Stanley Young and his assistant to live again," Holmes continued. I sighed.

"Give me the clothes," I grumbled. Holmes smiled and tossed me the dingy clothes I had worn last time. After I put them on, a thought occurred to me, and I dashed out into the hall.

"Holmes, I can hardly be Olivia Cardia again. Who am I this time?" I questioned. Holmes looked up from the jar of oil he was holding.

"This stuff is disgusting. I hate having to put it in my hair. You'll be... Samantha Johnson, a transfer such as myself from America," Holmes said. He dipped his hand into the oil and grimaced.

"I'm hoping that Samantha Johnson isn't one of your past girlfriends," I mused. Holmes smiled.

"Nope. I don't think I've ever met a Samantha. Change your appearance, will you please? Put on glasses or something," Holmes replied. I went into my room and managed to dig out a pair of sunglasses.

"Holmes, this is the best I can do," I showed him the sunglasses. He sighed.

"Fine, you're blind. Just do something. Oh, and find sunglasses that AREN'T purple."

"What is wrong with purple sunglasses?"

******************************************************************************************

The riverbed was slick with mud and other disgusting things. I used my stick to whack Holmes in the ankles.

"Stanley, what are we looking for?" I asked in a youthful, yet depressed voice.

" 'We' are looking for nothing. However, I am looking for footprints, blood, anything. But since you're blind, you can't see much of anything," Holmes stressed. 

We were amongst the many police officers that flooded the bank of the Thames river. Holmes had gotten us in by flashing a very fake badge. I nearly hadn't been able to come, but Holmes promised that 'Samantha' was very sure of foot.

I smacked him again with my walking stick.

"But the girls ended up here. Why do expect to find anything here?" I drawled. Holmes spun and yanked the stick from my hand.

"Stop-hitting-me. I don't. But there is a chance," Holmes snapped. He tossed the stick back to me. I caught it and started to hobble around. 

As I was walking, something got caught on my stick. Snarling, I tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't come off.

"Stanley, dearest, their is something stuck on my stick. Would you be a dear and get it off?" I warbled. Holmes stalked over and yanked off the piece of fabric that had gotten stuck.

"For heaven sakes Samantha! Can't you- what's this?" Holmes cut off to look at the odd piece of fabric that had caught on my walking stick.

"Well how would I know? I'm blind!" I broadcasted. Holmes glared at me.

"Where did you find this?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Over there," I said pointing. Holmes walked over to look at where I found the fabric. After a moment of digging through the mud, he uttered a cry of amazement. Standing quickly, he pocketed multiple things and turned to the nearest officer.

"Well, not much to find here sir. We'll be on our way now," Holmes said with that flawless Brooklyn accent of his. He grabbed my arm, smiled at the officers, and dragged me from the crime scene. After about five minutes of walking I could stand it no more.

"What is it Holmes? What did I find?" I asked, putting emphasis on the 'I'. Holmes glanced at me.

"Very well, we'll credit this as your find. You found a scrap of fabric, and a little purse, which yielded the drivers license of Sandra. Obviously, she wasn't strangled and then thrown into the river. She was probably drowned on the bank, and then left for the police to find," Holmes answered. I shuddered.

"Ew."

"Yes, well, we have to get to school. You have some of my clothes at your house, I think? Yes? Well then, I suggest we run, as we have only five minutes before the bell rings."

******************************************************************************************

Holmes and I came into school late, looking very disheveled. Holmes muttered excuses and ran to the chemistry lab, leaving me to deal with my staring classmates.

When lunch came around, and Holmes wasn't there, I went to the chemistry lab in search for him. Indeed, he was there, hunched over some repulsive smelling chemicals with the fabric scraps I had found.

"What did you find?" I asked, startling him. He jumped and then looked at me.

"Do you mind? Not much. Some fibers of someone's hair, which is sandy blond. Sandra, according to the newspapers, had light brown hair, not blond. So her killer was a male, which we already knew, and has sandy blond hair. Not much to work with, if you ask me," Holmes replied. I shrugged.

"So we look for new evidence," I said matter-of-factly. Holmes stared at me.

"I didn't finish the analysis yet. Did you get my homework assignments?" he asked. I nodded and pulled them out of the bag I carried with me.

"Yeah, two pages Algebra, some other junk in English, a mind teaser in Advanced English, and we have chair placements tomorrow in band," I said, holding the papers out to him. He groaned.

"Lovely. That fool Lindsey will be wanting first chair, and I haven't practiced in forever. Ah, well, I'll beat her next time. Hand me the microscope, will you?" said Holmes. I handed it to him and he began going through her purse, pulling out items. 

"Lipstick, nail polish, blush-just like a girl, carries makeup everywhere- tissue, drivers license, and a pocket planner," Holmes rattled. I picked up the lipstick and looked at it.

"Why would she wear black lipstick?" I asked to myself. Holmes looked up from the microscope.

"What was that?" Holmes asked.

"Nothing," I answered. 

"No, no. What did you say?" Holmes encouraged. I sighed.

"I don't know, Sandra kind of struck me as the popular type. But she has black lipstick," I replied, tossing him the lipstick. He looked at it carefully. Eventually he put it under the microscope lens and stared at it.

"This isn't hers," Holmes said. I stared at him.

"What?"

"Well, the fingerprints on here aren't hers. The pocket planner, the drivers license, the rest of the makeup-they all have the same fingerprints. These aren't her fingerprints, hence this isn't her lipstick. But why would Marie have her henchman replace her lipstick?" Holmes mumbled. I shrugged.

"I don't know. Ask Irene. She probably knows better than anybody else," I suggested. Holmes stared at the lipstick.

"All right," Holmes resolved, "I suppose I'll go talk to Irene. But here's another thing that is bugging me."

"What is it this time?" I sighed. Holmes tossed the lipstick into a bag.

"The fingerprints on this are a male's."

******************************************************************************************

Irene sat back in her chair.

"A male who wore lipstick? Jeez, you guys meet the strangest people on these cases," she said. Holmes sighed.

"Irene, you probably met this person first. Could you please just tell me who he is?" Holmes pursued. Irene looked at the lipstick critically.

"Well, three men come to mind. One was a guy named Roger, the other Berkley, and the last was Sam. They were all Goth, and not very important in Marie's rank. But only one wore this particular kind of lipstick," Irene told us. Holmes looked at her with interest.

"Really? Who?"

"Let's see, let's see. I think it was Berkley, but it can't be," Irene said. Holmes dropped his head and it banged against the table.

"Why can't it be Berkley?" I asked for Holmes. Irene looked at me earnestly.

"To tell you the truth, Berkley is dead."

******************************************************************************************

"Twists and turns, that is all this case is! If we don't get substantial evidence soon, I'll go insane!" Holmes ranted. I rubbed my eyes wearily.

"Sit down. Obviously Berkley isn't as dead as we thought. Lets think now, shall we? A male, maybe Berkley, who has black lipstick. And sandy blond hair. Problem is, he's dead. How did he die?" I asked. Holmes sighed and pulled out the book of notes he kept.

"According to Irene, he was murdered. No one ever found out who did it," Holmes said. I nodded.

"Ok, I'm lost. Marie has really got one on us now," I said. A voice from the doorjamb spoke up.

"Now then, I never said that Marie was involved with these crimes, now did I? I just said she was the link," Irene said and entered the room. Holmes stared at her.

"Are you telling me Marie isn't involved in these crimes?" Holmes asked. Irene smiled.

"I'm not saying she isn't. I'm just saying, don't get to caught up with Marie killing these people," Irene protested. Holmes held his hands up in the air in a praying gesture. After a bit he lowered them and looked at Irene gently.

"Sister mine, do you know if she is the murderer or not?" Holmes forced a smile. Irene grinned.

"Sorry to say, I do not. I can find out if you want," Irene laughed. Holmes jumped up, livid.

"Irene, can't you take this seriously? Five girls dead and you're laughing!" shouted Holmes. Irene frowned.

"Six. They just found a girl. Witnesses too," Irene declared. Holmes whirled around in disbelief.

"When?"

"Five minutes ago. If you hurry you can get to the scene of the crime before long," Irene replied. Holmes sat down.

"First of all, answer this. What did the witnesses see?"

"Well, one lady said that she saw a girl standing on the edge of the bridge, but then she realized she was being held there. Next thing she saw was a man shoving her off the bridge and the girl, clad in a white dress, falling toward the river," Irene responded. Holmes smiled at Irene and stood.

"Come along, Watson. Those fools in Scotland Yard will be to busy inspecting the body to go up to the bridge. Irene, I thank you," Holmes said, pulling me up. He knelt by his sister and kissed her on the cheek. Irene stiffened and pulled away. Holmes smiled at her once more and started out the door.

"Let us begin with an investigation worth looking into," Holmes announced.


	5. Jeremy Lyndon

Ha HA! I have it! Hee hee, ha ha ha. Ok, enough of my insane laughter. I finally have everything laid out for this entire story! It came to me in the middle of the last chapter! 

I've finally figured out what Arab people speak. And I'm a complete idiot. It's Arabic (major duh)! Ok, and now I'm going to add something's that my friends have asked me. Q. Where the heck is Watson's dad? A. Watson's mom and dad are divorced, and her dad still lives in Michigan. That is actually a question a lot of people have asked me. Q. Why did you make Jeffery so obvious in DD? A. The name Yerffej was used, first because I didn't know what else to do. But then I thought of a better excuse! Jeffery used Yerffej because he was to stupid to think of something else! Voila! Well, I'm done. Have fun reading the next chapter!

Chapter Five: Jeremy Lyndon

Police once again swarmed the riverbank, looking at the dead girls body. Fortunately for Holmes and I, no one noticed as we ran up to the bridge that the girl had plummeted off of. 

It was after nine-o-clock, and the moon in the sky provided the little light that surrounded the bridge. Holmes had pulled out a magnifying glass and was on the ground searching. I was left to look out for police officers.

"One man, flat toed. Expensive shoes... not wealthy. Curse this poor lighting... heavier. Hullo, what's this?" Holmes had been mumbling to himself, and now held up a lipstick tube. I bent over Holmes and looked at it.

"Black. We must be dealing with a Goth," I whispered. Holmes nodded and continued to search the area. He seemed especially transfixed on the mud. Finally, he stood and brushed himself off.

"He isn't a Goth," Holmes affirmed. I gaped at him.

"How can he not be? Two black lipsticks, and you're saying he's not a Goth?" I hissed. Holmes nodded.

"That's right. This lipstick has never been used. The last one was, but you could see a rim showing that it hadn't been used in some time. A Goth, who wears only black, would use their black lipstick everyday, and it wouldn't have that rim. So that mean's this lipstick isn't his, and who ever it belongs to hasn't used it in a very long time, a year or so," Holmes proclaimed. I sighed.

"Fine, I'm an idiot. What else did you find out?" I asked. Holmes thought a moment.

"First, you're not an idiot. Second, our suspect is a nineteen year old male, roughly six foot three. He has expensive shoes, but they are very old and were used before he came in possession of them. He is rather large, about 160 pounds. He has an older brother, and his mother is still alive, but his father is not. Other than that, I can deduce very little," Holmes replied. I laughed.

"You can deduce very little my butt. Anything else?" I asked. Holmes shrugged. Suddenly, a beam of strong light flashed over us.

"You! Kids, get down from there and come here," yelled a man's voice. Holmes sighed and walked down to where the man was standing, with me close behind. The man looked at Holmes and gasped.

"Sherlock Holmes! What in heaven's name are you doing here?" cried the man. Holmes glared at him.

"Good evening Inspector Lestrade. I hope all is well? My girlfriend and I were just, well, you know... having fun, you know what I mean?" Holmes lied. I smiled shyly at Inspector Lestrade and batted my eyelashes. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"At a crime scene?" Lestrade ruminated. Holmes gave an expression of shock.

"A crime scene? Who was killed?" he asked.

"A girl, a kid named Lisa Armstrong. She was eighteen," Lestrade illuminated. Holmes nodded.

"I'm quite sorry. Come Jenny, baby. Lets go somewhere more private," Holmes said. He grabbed my hand and yanked me away from the Inspector. I smiled at the Inspector and allowed myself to be dragged off by Holmes.

Once we were a good distance away from the crime scene, Holmes and I started laughing.

"Having fun? Oh great Holmes. Now he thinks I'm a whore," I laughed. Holmes smiled.

"Yeah, well. Lestrade doesn't much like me. I'd get arrested if he thought I was investigating," Holmes attested. I smiled.

"Does Mr. Holmes have a bit of a criminal record?" I questioned. Holmes snorted.

"Mr. Holmes has more than a bit of a criminal record. Mr. Holmes has a criminal record the size of Ireland," verified Holmes. I looked up at him.

"What has Mr. Holmes done to get the police so angry at him?" I continued.

"Mr. Holmes's fights don't go unnoticed. Also, Mr. Holmes has been seen sneaking around," Holmes answered. I laughed.

"Lovely. Come on, we have school tomorrow."

******************************************************************************************

Holmes slammed his tray down on the table, then dropped his head onto it. I glanced at him before continuing my meal.

"Bad night?" I asked. Holmes groaned into the table.

"The worst. Father wasn't in the best of the mood's for excuses. Charise was drunk, and Irene was... Irene," Holmes mumbled. I patted his arm sympathetically. 

"Did your Father... you know, hurt you?" I asked. Holmes pulled back his shirtsleeve to reveal green-blue bruises. I winced.

"And Irene?"

" 'Life is full of mysteries, now isn't my darling Sherlock?'" Holmes imitated Irene's breathy, dreamy voice. I sighed.

"Your life sucks," I said. Holmes removed his head from the table and stared at me.

"You have no idea," Holmes replied. I nodded.

"So, any leads?" I asked. Holmes poked at the cafeteria food disdainfully.

"Is this supposed to be food? No, none yet," Holmes supplied. I nodded and bit into my sandwich.

"Ah. What are we doing tonight?" I asked. Holmes shrugged, then brightened.

"There is a violinist in town. Do you want to go see the show? I heard he's supposed to be really good," Holmes asked. I smiled.

"Sure, I'd- Jeremy?" I stopped. Holmes frowned.

"No, I'm Holmes. The violinist is some international guy. His name isn't Jeremy," Holmes testified. I waved my hand at him.

"No, no, no. I think a friend of mine from the states just came into the lunch room," I told him. Holmes craned his neck past me to see who I was staring at.

The boy who had entered was lightly freckled, with red hair and glasses. He smiled at the people as he walked by each table. He seemed to be searching for something... or someone. He stopped at my table and looked at me with delight etched onto his features. I jumped up.

"Jeremy! Oh my God, it's really you!" I shrieked. I jumped into Jeremy's arms and gave him a hug. A soft voice clearing it's throat was the only reminder that their was someone else in the world. I looked at Holmes and smiled.

"Holmes, this is Jeremy! He was a good friend of mine when I lived in Michigan!" I exclaimed. Holmes smiled dryly at me.

"I deduced that," he said. Jeremy smiled at me.

"Jenny, it's so good to see you again! You look great!" Jeremy professed. I laughed.

"Thanks. What are you doing away from the theatre? I wouldn't have expected you anywhere else," I laughed. Jeremy smiled and took my hand.

" 'What light, through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon'!" Jeremy recited, kissing my hand. I laughed again and pulled my hand away.

"Stop, you're going to make Holmes jealous," I giggled. Jeremy looked puzzled.

"Holmes?" he asked. I gestured toward Holmes.

"Jeremy, this is Sherlock Holmes, my best friend," I said. Jeremy looked at Holmes dubiously for a moment, then extended a hand.

"Hello Sherlock. My name is-" Jeremy began. Holmes rose to the occasion and took his hand.

"Your name is Jeremy Lyndon. You are visiting England to come see the opening of a play, I suspect. Romeo and Juliet, yes?" said Holmes. Jeremy looked shocked and turned to me.

"Ok, what game is this demon playing?" Jeremy demanded. I rolled my eyes.

"No game. Holmes is just smart, is all. So, coming to see Romeo and Juliet?" I asked. Jeremy nodded.

"It opens tonight, and I have front row tickets. Would thy fair maiden like to come with thou?" Jeremy asked. I winced and looked at Holmes. He waved his hands at me and turned back to his meal. I smiled broadly at Jeremy.

"Of course! Pick me up at six, all right?" I asked. Jeremy nodded and kissed me-on the lips- in front of Holmes. I saw Holmes tense, and when Jeremy left I turned back to Holmes.

"It isn't what you think, Holmes," I told him. He shrugged and focused his attention to the chicken that he had maimed on his tray.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who kept secrets," he whispered. I could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Like Jeremy is an Olivia. At least he didn't jump into my arms and kiss me with full force," I snapped. Holmes glared at me.

"Yes, well, he might as well of. And you jumped into his arms, so he didn't have much of a chance," he mumbled. I stared at him.

"Uh uh. No fair, comparing Jeremy to Olivia. He's only staying for tonight, all right? So stop with the jealousy!"

******************************************************************************************

"You're staying the rest of the week!" I screamed. Jeremy winced.

"Well, yeah. We can spend some quality time together, darling," he whispered into my ear. I pulled myself away from him.

"Look, I like you Jeremy, but not in that way. Let's just stay friends," I said. Jeremy sighed.

"What is with you? You used to like it when I kissed you," he said. I whirled around.

"You kissed me on the cheek, numbskull! And not in front of my boyfriend! Oops, I shouldn't of said that," I stopped short. Jeremy turned to me, open mouthed.

"You mean Sherlock is more than a friend?" he whimpered. I rolled my eyes.

"Duh. Come on, lets just go see the play. Don't worry about it," I said. Jeremy sighed.

"I should have known it wouldn't work out. I mean, an actor and you. Oh well. You're right, lets just go see the play," he said. He took my arm and led me out to the car.

******************************************************************************************

"Hey Holmes, wait up will you?" I called down the crowded hall. Holmes stopped short and waited for me. I ran to catch up with him.

"Hey. What's up?" I asked. Holmes shrugged.

"Nothing. How was your date with Jeremy?" he asked. I shook my head.

"It wasn't a date. We're just friends, get over it," I said. Holmes smiled at me, a small smile, but a smile all the same.

"Are we working tonight?" he asked me. I winced.

"Well, see Holmes, that's the problem. Jeremy is staying for the rest of the week. I can't very well abandon him, so..." I trailed off. Holmes sighed.

"So you'll be spending the rest of the week with him," he finished. I nodded. 

"Oh well. Irene and I will work alone, it's not a big deal. I think Raze might have something else for me, so I have enough people. Enjoy your time with Jeremy," Holmes said. But something in his voice made me stop.

"Holmes, why are you so jealous?" I asked. Holmes stopped and turned to face me.

"I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous," Holmes replied. I rolled my eyes.

"Jealousy is a human emotion. You're human. Spill," I said. Holmes started walking again.

"As I said, I'm not jealous. But you know I don't like working alone," he said. I stared at him, shocked.

"Yes you do. Are you saying you don't like to work without me?" I questioned. Holmes shook his head.

"I didn't say that. I just said I didn't like working alone," he replied. 

"But you won't be. Irene will be with you."

"Trust me, working with Irene is like working alone."


	6. Snow Storm

Chapter six! Joy and rapture. Ok, since I'm in a good mood (for once) I decided to do some plug-ins. They are as followed: READ THE STORIES BY SOMEDAY SARA AND HANNAH HOLMES! THEY ARE GREAT WRITERS! ALSO, READ ALL THE OTHER STORIES, 'CAUSE THEY'RE JUST AS GOOD! Their. I'll give more plug-ins later, but for now that is what I'm giving.

Chapter Six: Snow Storm

"Lovely. It's snowing. Can things get any worse?" I groaned.

It was the middle of February, and I was at my house with- unfortunately- Holmes and Jeremy. Knowing our luck, we'd get snowed in and then I would have to figure out who murdered who.

"It's snowing again? I thought London was famous for rain?" Jeremy asked. Holmes, who sat in the corner of my room with a book in hand looked up at him.

"It is. We usually don't get snow. This is very unusual weather (A.N. Correct me if I'm wrong)," Holmes said. I nodded.

"Meteorologists don't know what to make of it. I think they're blaming El Nino or something like that," I said. Holmes sat back in his chair.

"Either way, we're not getting out of this house. Which, thankfully, means HE won't either," Holmes said. HE was, of course, the killer. But since Jeremy didn't know about it, we didn't bother to tell him. Jeremy sighed.

"Well God knows that I don't want someone stuck in this house with me. Flip on the news, see if they expect any change in the weather," Jeremy said. Holmes scowled at him and went to turn on the television. 

Across the screen, a preppy reporter smiled back at us. She was outside, near the river from what I could tell. Holmes sat down in his chair waiting to see what she would say.

"...And another body is found today, frozen in the Thames, making this the seventh body in the past two months. Police have identified her as Selene Handyn. Selene Handyn is the daughter of Mr. George Handyn, the man who started the 'Moonscape' club for his daughter. Selene was sixteen years old and attended-". Holmes flipped off the TV. Jeremy jumped up.

"Hey, I was watching that!" he protested. Holmes shrugged, indifferent to Jeremy's outburst. He turned to me.

"Another one," he said simply. I nodded. Jeremy looked at us.

"What are you two talking about? You are so secretive Jenny. What is going on?" Jeremy demanded. Holmes turned away from him and came up to me.

"I'll be in the living room, preparing to stay. You may tell him, if you wish," Holmes whispered into my ear. I smiled back at him, but he just left the room. Jeremy grinned and took the chair Holmes had been occupying.

"It's about time that stiff left," Jeremy snickered. I glared at him.

"Look, Jeremy, I know you don't think much of Holmes, but he is a great person. I wish you'd try to get to know him," I expressed. Jeremy rolled his eyes.

"He's a jerk, Jenny. Get over it. That guy wouldn't know amusement if it danced in front of him, naked at that. I think you should move onto someone else. Someone better," Jeremy suggested. I slapped him.

"Holmes is my BEST FRIEND. What part of that don't you understand? And will you stop trying to seduce me? It isn't going to work," I snapped. Jeremy frowned at me.

"We once went out," he whimpered. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Look, Jeremy, we both decided we shouldn't go out anymore. We bored each other. Remember, I was the brains, you were the actor? And it was one date, you can't judge anything on that," I pointed out. Jeremy scowled.

"I'm going to bed. Wake me up when you change your mind," he growled.

"Well, you'll be sleeping a long time then."

******************************************************************************************

I walked downstairs wrapped in a blanket. Holmes was stretched out on the couch bed thing and didn't seem to notice my approach.

"Hey," I whispered. He turned his head to look at me, then turned away. I nudged him and he scooted over.

"Look, Jeremy's a jerk. Don't let him get to you," I said. Holmes rolled over to face me.

"Why do you think he's a jerk?" asked Holmes. I smirked at him.

"Well, let's just say he said some nasty things upstairs which made me see his true colors," I replied. Holmes nodded and put his arm around me.

"Selene Handyn. The seventh girl. This is getting out of hand," he whispered. I tugged at his hand.

"No kidding. Holmes, what are we going to do? We don't have any leads whatsoever. How are we going to find out who he's going to try to get next?" I whispered back. I felt Holmes shrug next to me.

"I guess we pray that he doesn't get anyone else before we can figure out who he is," Holmes supposed. I sighed.

"And if he does get someone else?"

"Well, then we keep working."

"That doesn't help Holmes."

"Think of it this way. The police don't even have any clues."

I smiled and rolled over and put my head against Holmes's chest.

"I don't even want to think that another girl is going to die before we can figure out who did this," I muttered into his shirt. Holmes kissed the top of my head and pulled me away from him.

"Don't think about it, then," Holmes confirmed. I smiled and rolled onto my back.

"Gosh, who would name there club 'Moonscape'? And who would join it?" I asked. Holmes sat up.

"All I know about it is from what Olivia and Irene told me," he said. I nodded.

"What is it all about?" I asked, knowing quite well that his sister had been part of it five long years ago.

"It's a club for girls who like the stars, essentially. They are all really dreamy girls, who always had there heads in the clouds," replied Holmes. I sighed again.

"Must be nice not knowing what is going on down here on earth," I mumbled. Holmes laughed softly.

"Irene joined before she ran away. She seemed to like it, but she came back one night really upset," Holmes continued. I looked at him.

"What happened?"

"She wouldn't say. She said something about a boy had been there (it was an all girls club) and she didn't like him."

"Oh. Well, I'm going to bed. Talk to you tomorrow?" I began to rise, and felt Holmes pull me back.

"Stay?" he asked. I smiled at him.

"I remember you got angry at me once for asking you to stay with me," I remembered. Holmes smiled.

"That was then, this is now. Besides, I highly doubt that your mother will think we had sex now, don't you think?" Holmes reflected. I grinned and curled up next to him.

******************************************************************************************

"Jenny, I just came to tell you that I think I should leave," someone said. I groaned and looked away from the light.

"Jeremy, is that you?" I asked. I heard a soft chuckling.

"No, it's the Queen of England," he said. I smiled and opened my eyes.

"You're leaving, huh?"

"Yeah. The week is up, and my plane is leaving in an hour or so," Jeremy told me. I sighed.

"Look, I wish you could have given Holmes a chance... speaking of which, where is he?" I asked, confused as to why Holmes was gone. Jeremy sat down next to me.

"He went home early this morning. Said he had preparations to make. We called a truce, though. Talked about you a bit," Jeremy said. I nodded and then realized what he said.

"You didn't tell him about the birthday party fiasco?" I asked quickly. Jeremy laughed.

"He found that one particularly amusing. I even showed him the picture!" Jeremy exclaimed. I gasped.

"The one with my face in the cake... Jeremy you didn't!" I shouted, quite embarrassed.

"I gave him a copy, he seemed very fond of it."

"Oh man..."

Jeremy stood up and hugged me.

"I'll miss you Jen. He's a great guy, I'm sorry I insulted him."

"Yeah, well."

"He's wants you to call him when you get up, by the way, something about an interview with a Mr. Handyn," Jeremy remembered. I nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

"Talk to you later, Jeremy. Tell my Dad I said hi. And Aunt Sophia," I whispered. My voice had gone hoarse with emotion and I turned away.

"Bye Jenny. See you later." Jeremy turned and walked out the door, leaving me alone in the house.

*************************************************************************************************

"Hello?"

"Holmes, this is Watson. Jeremy said that you wanted me to call you?" I said into the phone. Holmes made a noise of remembrance.

"Yes, we're going to see Mr. Handyn. I had a... premonition of sorts, and I want to ask a few questions. Irene will be there, she knows the best questions to ask. And she isn't all that spacey today, thank heavens," Holmes answered. I smiled at the reference to his sister and told him I'd be at his house in a little while.

"Oh, and Watson?" he asked before I hung up.

"Yes?"

"Vanilla frosting on your face doesn't go well with your complexion."

Well? That is chapter six, people. I think I'm on the final stretch, sadly enough. I'm running out of ideas. We're talking three to four more chapters, but that is it. Please r/r! 


	7. Interview at Moonscape

Well, chapter seven. This is going to the closing point. After this, I think I have about four more chapters to write. I have a quick question to ask. Do any of you people live in Orlando? Don't tell me that, but tell me this much. Have any of you ever heard of the musical "Holmes"? I stumbled upon the website, and I kind of like the music, but I know nothing about in the least, other than what the website has. If anybody could actually tell me what it's about, I'd really appreciate it. I fell in love with one of the songs, called "Nothing More", and I just wanted info on it. Thanks!

Chapter Seven: Interview at Moonscape

The huge manor loomed sinisterly. It was a dark, evil looking house. It was the mansion of Mr. George Handyn.

Holmes walked up to the door hesitantly, then rapped on the knocker. I turned to him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, come on, wouldn't he be upset about his daughter?" I asked, jumping up and down in the frigid air. Holmes smiled at my comic movements.

"Yes, well, if we ever wish to finish this horrible case, and get back inside, then I think we require a visit to this man," Holmes chattered. Even he was cold in this weather. It was ten degrees below zero, for heavens sake!

Suddenly, the door to the mansion opened, and a tall, rakish man stood there. Holmes looked at him.

"May I help you children," the man asked. Holmes swallowed and held out a hand.

"Mr. Handyn, I presume?" At the mans confirmation, Holmes continued. "We're investigators to your daughter's death, and many of the other girls. I believe you know Miss Irene Holmes?"

Irene stepped forward from the shadows she had been hiding in, and smiled at Mr. Handyn.

"Why, yes. Irene, darling, how are you? It's a shame we couldn't meet on more pleasant business," Mr. Handyn said. Irene smiled.

"I'm quite sorry for your lose, George. Selene was such a nice girl," Irene said. Mr. Handyn nodded and permitted us entrance.

The hall itself was huge, and I couldn't help but gape at the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. Mr. Handyn chuckled at my look.

"You like my house Miss...?"

"Miss Johnson. My name is Samantha Johnson," I said, resuming my role as the slightly dreamy, yet no longer blind, Samantha. Irene smiled at me and then turned toward Handyn.

"If you don't mind George, my good friend Stanley Young here would like to ask you a few questions," Irene persisted. Handyn nodded once more and led us into what I presumed to be the living room. He sat us all in some comfortable chairs, and took a seat by the fire, facing us.

"Ask away, sir and ladies." Holmes pulled out his notebook of premeditated questions and flipped it open.

"All right. Can you tell me what Selene was like?"

"Selene was like all the other girls of the Moonscape club. Dreamy and insufferably imaginative."

"How so, sir?"

"She was always talking about unicorns and dragons, and how the moon had spoken to her the night before, and how she could touch the stars, and other nonsense like that."

"Why did you create the Moonscape club if you hated such drivel?"

"To get the girl out of my way, of course!"

"Did Selene ever talk of things you found... odd?"

"Not really. I thought all the stuff she thought of was odd. But there was one time. She came home early one night in tears, crying that 'the man she had hired wasn't fun'."

Holmes shot a glance toward Irene, whose eyes were wide with horror and memory. I moved my seat toward Irene and patted her on the hand gently. Holmes took a deep breath.

"Did she describe the boy?"

"Now that I think of it, yes! She said he was a black, black man."

"Selene didn't like black?"

"Selene liked silver, and white."

"When she said black, did she mean in color of skin, or his clothing and style?"

"The boy she described I could pick out as a Goth, and that was it."

"Ah. That explains it. Did the other girls object so strongly?"

"They all came up to me saying how much they hated him, and they never wanted him back."

"Did you ever find out the identity of this boy?"

"Yes."

"And he was...?"

"Some boy named Berkley Josephs."

My head snapped up as I looked at Holmes. Irene had began rocking back and forth and had tears streaming down her face. Holmes smiled at Handyn and gestured for me to come forward. I did so.

"Get her out of here! Take her to some other room and stay with her!" Holmes hissed, furious. I nodded and excused myself and Irene.

I led Irene down the hall and found the study. We entered and I sat Irene down and looked her straight in the eye.

"Irene, what is wrong?" I asked. Irene moaned.

"I remember... I remember..." she moaned over and over. I put a finger over her lips.

"What do you remember Irene?" I asked. I felt as though I was talking to a five year old.

"That night. Berkley! I didn't realize it was him until now," Irene said. She had calmed a great deal and I sat next to her.

"Tell me about it," I requested. Irene leaned back, acting her age once again.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up about nothing. You like me, right?" Irene asked suddenly, changing the subject. I stared at her.

"Yes, you're a very nice young lady. Why are you asking me this?"

"I've never had a friend. You think I should go to a psychiatrist," she replied. I was shocked at how calm she seemed.

"Um, yes. I don't think you're insane, of course, but... well, your mind won't let you love. Come one Irene, how normal is that?" I asked. Irene smiled, to my immense pleasure.

"I know I have a problem. I'm not entirely stupid. When I was younger... I didn't know what was wrong with me. I came back because I thought I was cured. It didn't occur to me that I thought I was cured because I was out of human contact for so long. God Jenny. Do you know how hard it is to have your brother say that he loves you, and you can't even respond, except with feelings of fear?" Irene's voice was filled with self-loathing. I shook my head.

"For five years I hid from my family. Well, not so much from Father. I really don't care what he thinks. But from Mother and Sherlock. I remember when I was ten, Mother came in to say good night and I slapped her when she hugged me. She was appalled, and I couldn't explain to her why I had hit her. And when I turned eleven, Sherlock gave me a present that I destroyed. Imagine explaining to a six-year-old why you burned the doll he made for you," Irene laughed. I smiled at her, but I felt so sorry for her. Here she was, spilling her guts to me, and I could only listen.

__

Sometimes listening is the best remedy for things like this...

Irene continued. "Even when I was in America, I had to hide at all times. My one teacher tried to get me to confront my fears, and I ran. On Valentines Day, a man on the streets that I sometimes talked to gave me a card. I burned it. He never spoke to me again."

"And now I feel like I have to run again. Father will never pay for a shrink. I think after this case is finished, I'll go away. I'll give warning this time, though," Irene concluded. I reached forward and hugged her, but at the same time felt her tense beneath my arms. I pulled away and looked at her.

"You'll kill Holmes, you know that right?" I asked softly. Irene nodded miserably.

"But either way I'll kill him. By telling him that I hate him, which I'm bound to do if I stay, or by leaving. Somehow, leaving feels better," Irene groaned. I sighed.

"Tell me about what happened with Berkley," I requested. Irene sat back in her chair and thrust her fingertips into the sockets of her eyes.

"Very well. Sometimes in January, five years ago, Selene and the other girls of the Moonscape club hired, er, entertainment as it were from Marie. Yes, she was a criminal then, nobody knew it, however. Anyway, we were to pay her for the boy she sent. She sent Berkley. Of course, we were repulsed by him, as he was Goth. We called him ugly, hideous, an abomination to the stars. He ran away, crying. We refused to pay our provider and the next day, Berkley was found dead," Irene said. I gasped.

"That's horrible. Irene, I know this sounds odd, but I think Holmes will understand if you go away," I told her. She sighed heavily.

"You're right. I'll leave tomorrow morning for Austria. I have a friend there who knows a good psychiatrist," Irene said. She rose, went to a window, and opened. She paused before she started to climb out it and looked at me.

"Jenny, under different circumstances, I believe we could have become good friends." Then she was gone. I turned and walked from the room, preparing to tell Holmes about Irene.

The interview was almost over when I came back into the room, and sitting in a chair I listened to the last segment.

"Who are the living members of the Moonscape club?" questioned Holmes. Handyn frowned.

"Why, just Irene now. The rest have been killed." Holmes jerked up and stood over Handyn.

"Who were the girls in this club before they died?"

"Let me see, let me see. The girls were Amy Tawas, Kirsten Drivigandi, Sandra Nutraye, Ashley Cadsbare, Olivia Cardia, and of course, Selene Handyn."

*************************************************************************************************

I went home feeling sick. We finally had a connection between all the girls, other than Marie. They were all part of the same club. All dead, except for Irene.

I went to sleep and was dreaming (not my fluffy bunnies dream, thank heavens) when the phone rang. I had my own private line, and I knew immediately who it had to be, considering I only gave my number out to one person. I reached out my hand and grabbed the phone.

"What is it Holmes?"

"Get up Watson, right now," Holmes answered. His voice sounded odd, and it caused me a moments consternation. 

"What is it Holmes?" I asked. Something was obviously wrong, and I was seriously worried.

"It's Irene. She never came home, and Father just gave me a note from her kidnapper, saying she would be found tomorrow... on the riverbank."

Well? What did you think? I'm approaching the conclusion of this story, and if you have any ideas about what I should write next, or requests, then I suggest you get them in now. I really would like some ideas, since I'm drawing a blank. Thanks!


	8. To Watery Depths

Eighth chapter! Joy and rapture! I really don't have anything to say! Just read this and enjoy it!

Chapter Eight: To Watery Depths

I darted out the door pulling on my black windbreaker. Holmes and I decided to meet at the Irregulars hideout. I ran as fast as I could.

_Oh man... Irene is going to die. What are we going to do?_

Finally I reached the rotting doorway and struggled to remember the way to knock.

"Knock once, tap trice... no, that's not it. Tock nice, lock fice... no, no that definitely isn't it. Got it! Knock twice, tap thrice! Hah!" I reached forward and knocked three times and then tapped twice. The door fell open and I jumped inside. Holmes wasn't there yet. I started pacing restlessly. 

"She'll be fine. Irene knows how to take care of herself. She can beat this guy. He's not the great. He can't do anything. Irene can swim... I think."

"She can," Holmes voice came from the doorway. I whirled around and hugged Holmes.

"God Holmes. What are we going to do?" I mumbled into his jacket. Holmes hugged me tightly. I looked up at him and was shocked to see tears streaming down his face. I laughed and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Don't cry," I sobbed, "She'll be fine. Irene is smart. And she can swim!" Holmes laughed, but it quickly turned into a sob. He buried his head into my shoulder and continued to cry. I hugged him tightly.

"Holmes, I don't believe I've seen this side of you before," I whispered. He looked at me sadly. 

"I don't show this side of me very often. She's my sister. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you know who is the criminal is?" I asked. Holmes pulled himself together and cleared his throat.

"I have absolutely no idea who he is," admitted Holmes. I smiled.

"Well, lets think logically. Irene would be fighting this entire time, and he can only get so far. Besides, all the girls have been shoved off the same bridge. He wouldn't change bridges on account of her," I told him. Holmes nodded and began pacing.

"But I don't have any evidence to incriminate him. Oh, forget it. Lets go. Their is an hour drive before we can get to the bridge. We just have to pray that we get there before him," Holmes said. He grabbed my hand and signaled for a cab. A cab driver pulled over and leaned out the window.

"Where to, sir?" the man asked. Holmes pulled open the door and ushered me inside.

"To the bridge!" Holmes cried. The man nodded and pulled away from the curb.

"What are we going to do once we find him?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Maybe we can, I don't know, convince him to leave her alone."

"If that doesn't work, we can just knock him unconscious."

Holmes laughed. "Yes, that would work."

We sat for a moment in silence, he staring out the window, and me thinking about what to say.

"Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"Are you worried about Irene?"

"Yes."

"Do you think if this guy had a chance he would kill her?"

"Yes."

"Would you die if she was...killed?"

"Maybe."

"Holmes?"

"Really Watson, I grow tired of this incessant questioning. What is it you really want to know?"

"Would you miss me if I died?"

Holmes turned to face me. He glared at me.

"Watson, you are my best friend and, I guess I have to say this, girlfriend. I would be crushed if you were killed. Just the same as if Irene was killed. Or my Mother," Holmes answered. I grinned in the darkness.

"But not your Father or Charise?" I teased. Holmes smiled at me.

"Well, maybe Charise..." Holmes answered. I laughed. Holmes reached down and took my hand. I squeezed his hand.

Five minutes later, the tranquility of the cab was shattered.

The cab driver whistled sharply all of a sudden. Holmes leaned forward.

"What is it sir?" Holmes asked. The cab driver turned around.

"Folks, you might want to hold on. The oil is all gone, as is the gas. We can't stop, because the brake fluid is gone," the cabbie said. I tensed next to Holmes. Holmes leaned back and tightened his seatbelt.

"Hold tight Watson. This could be bad," Holmes whispered. I nodded and closed my eyes. I heard the cabbie breath deeply and then I heard a sharp intake of breath and opened one eye to see Holmes mumbling oaths as fast as he could.

The cabbie was stamping on the brakes as best as he possibly could, but it was doing no good. I muttered my prayers from childhood, as was Holmes, when suddenly the car stopped. I opened my eyes cautiously. 

We had slammed into a snow bank! I jumped up and started screaming. Holmes grabbed my hand and covered my mouth.

"Watson, do be quiet! That was scary, yes, but don't start panicking," Holmes hissed. I nodded and carefully removed his hand.

"Sorry," I whispered hoarsely. Holmes nodded and opened the door. He stepped out into the brisk air, with me following. I looked at the car sadly.

"Well, that destroys all hopes of getting to the bridge in the next hour," Holmes said. He was still calm, but I saw the veins in his hand sticking out, showing that he was upset. The cabbie stepped out of the car and whistled softly.

"Well, all your oaths really helped. It's lucky that we managed to slide into that snow bank, isn't it?" the ill dressed cab driver said. Holmes grunted and pulled at my hand.

"If we run, we can get there before one a.m. Come along!" Holmes pronounced. I followed him as we began running. We were racing for Irene's life.

******************************************************************************************

Holmes halted abruptly, causing me to skid into him. We had been running on and off for the past hour and a half, and had finally caught a new ride to the bridge. Holmes had jumped out, leaving me to pay the new cab driver, and follow him. Holmes pointed breathlessly in the direction of the bridge.

Irene was on the edge, with some guy putting stuff on her face.

I jumped up and ran underneath the bridge.

"Watson, came back!" screamed Holmes. I turned to see what he was whining about. Suddenly, the ice underneath me cracked. I gasped and tried to walk back towards Holmes.

The ice shattered beneath me.

I plunged deep into the Thames, my cast that had hampered me through this entire case soaking through instantly. It broke away and I immediately began paddling toward the surface. My arm was still broke, however, and I had to let it lay limp next to my soaked body. I opened my mouth to scream, but water flowed in. The last thing I remembered seeing was some dark shape plunging into the water after me. Then I sank to the watery depths of the Thames, and all was black.

******************************************************************************************

"Watson! Come on, wake up! Watson, please, open your eyes!" a voice called. I coughed and felt water come spilling out of my mouth. I opened my eyes to see the waterlogged form of Holmes peering over me. I groaned.

"What the heck happened?" I spluttered. Holmes hugged me quickly, then smiled.

"You fell in the river. Come on, Irene has less time now," Holmes hastened. I stood and whimpered. My arm was killing me, and I was freezing. Holmes had to be colder, though. He had given me his coat and sweater. He wore a simple white shirt underneath, and you could see him shiver. I jogged after him, but he still reached the bridge before me.

The bridge was an old stone one, and was freezing to my bare feet (I had kicked off my shoes to prevent my drowning). Holmes stood in front of me, blocking my view of man who held Irene. Holmes was stiff and I could tell that he was ticked. I heard him snarl and then his voice rose in the calm air.

"You!"

Ok, whodunit? I'll tell you this much, it isn't anybody you have met in my stories yet. Well, actually, you have. Think of the clues. Black lipstick owned by the dead Berkley. A hatred for the Moonscape girls, who might as well of killed Berkley. Ok, it centers around Berkley. Good luck figuring it out!________ Moonshine P.S. Please r/r and give me any ideas about what you want me to write! Really, I'll give you a list of what I'll be happy to write about, and you can choose one of those or make up one of your own.

1. Holmes/Watson go to Ashling Michigan, where Jenny used to live

2. The story of Holmes family history

3. Holmes disappears and leaves Watson to solve a case

4. A story from Holmes's point of view

5. Another "normal" case

Remember, if you use any of these or one of your own, please give me a plot line. I can make up clues and stuff, but I need to know what you want.


	9. The Bridge of Death

Ahhh, the relief's and sadness of approaching the final chapters! This is, sad to say, third to last chapter. I hope you've all enjoyed this at least to a fraction of how you liked "Darker Days". Indeed, this one was much harder to write. Sequels are almost always harder to write, as the author always wishes to top the original. Alas, that is hard at times. To continue, I crave ideas. I am very much at the reviewers disposal, and I shall work with whatever suggestions befall me. You may tell me what to write, and I may very well do it as the idea pleases me. Please e-mail with your ideas, as I desperately want them. I would love for everyone of my faithful reviewers to send in suggestions, and even the scattered reviewer to send one in. My e-mail address is kep05@excite.com Once again, title the letter "Ideas" as I will delete it otherwise. Enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter Nine: The Bridge of Death

"Yes, it is I," the sneering male said. I did not recognize him. But Holmes did, I could tell by the way he was bristling. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Holmes, who is he?" I asked. The boy laughed.

"How am I, she asks! I am Berkley Josephs younger brother, Robert Josephs. However, you will not know me. But you might recognize me as Irene's ex-boyfriend. I broke up with her the day she ran away! But a month since my dear brothers hasty departure from this world!" laughed the boy. He was insane, driven by the thought of revenge! Holmes stepped forward.

"Please Robert. Leave Irene alone," pleaded Holmes. Irene lay at Roberts feet, bound and gagged, wearing a black gown and atrocious black lipstick.

"Ah, darling Sherlock. You were but ten when I last saw you. How you've grown," Robert taunted. Holmes glared at him and took another step forward.

"Robert... why are you doing this?" he asked vigilantly. Robert whipped around and stared out at the water.

"Those girls killed my brother. She was one of them," spat Robert. Irene screamed through her gag and stared at me, her eyes round.

"You know that isn't true. Marie Moriarty killed him," Holmes answered. Robert laughed again. It was a horrible sound.

"Yes, but she was not known as Marie Moriarty then, was she? No, then she was Marie Holmes. Your own Mother, Sherlock! What a startling turn of events it must have been when you found out your Mother was the leader of crime in this horrendous city. Have you killed her yet? We all know that the Holmes family was always bent on justice. So, have you murdered her? Left her body for dead on the steps of an honest establishment?" Robert goaded him. Holmes took a deep breath before continuing.

"Robert, word play does not suit you. I remember you quite well. Always insulting people. Cruel, demeaning, ugly, just as your horrible brother was. Tis a pity he couldn't be here to see such a duel," Holmes retorted. Robert scowled, then changed the subject.

"Your young mistress doesn't speak. You've trained her well, Sherlock," Robert told him. Holmes raised an amused eyebrow.

"Train Watson? You obviously haven't met her. She's as un-trainable as a coyote! And, she isn't my mistress," replied Holmes. Robert walked over towards me and laid a rough, calloused hand on my cheek. I shuddered at the closeness of him. The only person to ever touch me on the face, which was a sign of familiarity, was Holmes.

"Such a pretty young thing. Shame she wasn't part of the Moonscape club. I would have greatly enjoyed to see her go off the bridge. I can imagine her screams..." Robert trailed off. I pulled myself roughly from his grasp.

"You're demented, sir. I am very sorry for your brother, but does that give you the right to murder young girls?" I demanded. Robert cackled.

"So fiery! So full of life! I understand why you like her." Robert turned from me and picked up Irene.

"She was wonderful too. Not nearly as fiery as Miss Watson, perhaps, but dreamy. Irresistible. Unattainable. Perfect, dainty, and beautiful. She was also a murderer. I wish to torture her as Marie Holmes did to my brother. Cut lovely formations into her face, and make you watch. Watch as her blood flows from her body and into the river. She is my final, my last, and I wish to make her suffer as did my brother. Poor Berkley. He was so deformed when they found his body. As will Miss Holmes here," Robert cooed, running one long finger down her throat. Holmes growled.

"Robert, if you hurt my sister in anyway, I'll kill you," Holmes snarled. Robert smiled.

"Threats to not become you, Sherlock. Your sister is fine for now. I am quite willing to make a trade, however." Holmes looked at him anxiously.

"What is the trade?" he asked guardedly. Robert grinned.

"If you give me Miss Watson or yourself, I'll give Miss Holmes back," Robert bargained. Holmes took a tentative step forward, preparing to give himself. Irene started shrieking and howling from behind the gag, and I reached forward and grabbed Holmes.

"No deal," I shouted. Robert shrugged.

"Well, that means your torture will have to be drawn out longer. I have a pattern, you see. At a quarter past two Miss Holmes will plunge deep into the fast rivers of the Thames, and be swept away. And I will laugh as Mr. Holmes here collapses with pain and sadness. And you, of course, will try to ease it. That is when I'll take my leave, not giving any clues as to where I'll go. I will leave, and Miss Holmes will die without being avenged. And I will laugh until I die, remembering the look on your faces, and especially Miss Holmes. The victory behind it all!" Robert cried. Holmes dragged his hand over his face.

"How did you do it, Robert? Get all those girls to follow you?" Holmes asked. I saw what he was doing instantly. He was making time for Irene. Robert smiled.

"Haven't figured it out yet, Sherlock?" Robert asked. Holmes sighed.

"I didn't solve the case at all. You solved the case for me. By taking Irene, one of the few people I would notice gone, you played right into my hands. Of course, you left enough clues for me to follow you to the Moonscape club. But when you took Irene, I knew where you would go. Always the same place, Robert. Always. But how did the girls follow you?"

"Simple, really. Those girls were so suspicious, I could have gotten them to do anything. I would stand outside there window at night and whisper things. I told them that the bridge had an excellent view of the stars, and that at night, the stars came down and danced with you. They followed, and happily. There I would knock them unconscious and change them into more formidable death clothes, all of them being killed in a different color dress. I buried their clothes under the bridge, then gave them their beautiful death faces. I took them up to the bridge, let them say goodbye to the stars, then pushed them. They screamed as they fell, Sherlock. I can still hear the screams in my head. They were fun to listen to. Irene's here will be quite similar, I suppose. Lets find out, shall we?" 

At this, Robert pulled out a small knife. Holmes started forward, but Irene stared at him, and in her eyes I could see she was telling him not to. Robert held the knife with morbid fascination and curiosity. 

"So small, and yet so deadly. Lets start with her perfect wrists. A moon, shall it be? A crescent moon, yes. So perfect and so ironic," Robert mused. Holmes was staring at Irene as Robert lifted her into his arms. He took one of her pale wrists into his hands and kissed the fingertips. Then, putting the knife against her skin, he carved the shape of a crescent moon into it. Irene screamed, a dreadful sound to hear. Holmes was shaking with rage now, but Irene wouldn't permit him to come near. Robert took some of the blood into his hands and licked it off his fingertips. I quaked horribly. Robert looked at the remaining blood in his hands, then tossed on to Holmes.

"Something to remember your sister with," Robert chortled. Holmes hands balled into fists, and he looked ticked. Irene was crying at Roberts feet. 

"I'm so sorry that the blood won't come out. Since the Holmes family is so cold blooded, you're probably more concerned with the shirt, yes? Your sister doesn't matter anymore. A dead client, that is all? The famous Holmes family, so full of deceit and cruelness. People think you are so good, so kind. You're just a arse like the rest of your family. But, now the taunting must end. Quarter past two, my good man. Say goodbye to your wretch of a sister. A whore, that is all she ever-"

Holmes leapt forward and pulled Irene out of his arms, knocking the blade into his arm. Robert screamed and attacked Holmes.

Irene fell into my arms and I pulled her out of the way of the combatants. She looked fine, other than the cut on her arm. I turned my attention to Holmes and Robert as they fought.

Robert had quickly gained the upper hand, and he still had the knife. He had pinned Holmes to the ground in the few seconds that I had used to unbind Irene, and held the knife to his neck. Holmes was straining to keep Robert from killing him, but it wasn't doing any good. The knife continued to inch closer and closer, but something distracted Robert suddenly, and Holmes jumped up from the ground and knocked Robert down. Robert was not to be kept down, though. He jumped up almost immediately and thrust his little knife towards Holmes. Holmes parried it expertly and then rushed Robert. They were on the edge of the bridge now, along the rail. Holmes punched Robert in the face, and Robert retaliated by hitting Holmes with the knife. I gasped and feared that Holmes had been horribly injured, but I could not tell in the eerie moonlight. Irene was crawling towards them slowly. I tried to grab her back, but I missed her.

Meanwhile, Holmes had lost what little power he had left. He was fighting a nineteen year old, for heavens sake! Why he thought he could do battle with Robert I wasn't sure. A crack of lightening suddenly filled the sky, signaling the storm that was to come. It looked as though snow would be melting soon enough. But in that crack of lightening I saw the blade of the knife raise above Roberts head, and I heard Holmes yell, and saw him raise his hands to shield his face. Robert laughed horribly, but the tables turned for the last time. A thin hand stuck out and twisted the arm with knife. For a moment I thought it was Holmes's hand, but it couldn't be Holmes, for he was still underneath Robert. Who then...?

Irene grabbed Roberts hand and twisted him. He dropped the knife over the edge of the bridge. Irene slapped Robert, then shoved him backwards, and over the rail.

Robert plummeted down towards the icy water I knew could kill, his screams echoing in the dead air. With a splash, I knew Robert had breathed his last.

Holmes slowly rose from the edge of the bridge and looked at Irene in awe. His fragile sister took one look at him and collapsed to the ground, sobbing. Holmes rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. I smiled even as the dark crept into my eyes, preparing me for the blackout I knew was long overdue. With a rush of gratitude I slipped into the arms of darkness. 


	10. Final Goodbyes

This is the second to last chapter *sob*. I'm going to begin working on my next story soon, after I finish writing an application to a school I want to go to. I really recommend you get any suggestions. I already have on, and from Hannah Holmes I got an answer from my little list. Well, that is it, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Ten: Final Goodbyes

I groaned and rolled over, trying to mind my arm. Last night the cast had come off in the water and... wait a minute. I had a cast on my arm. Did I dream the entire thing?

I slowly opened my eyes and winced at the bright lights. A sterile, white room. Stiff bed sheets. The horrible sleeping garments. I was back at the hospital. I looked around, and saw no one in my room. This unnerved me greatly, but familiar with the routine, I pushed to call button next to my bed.

"Yes?" asked the nasally voice from the intercom.

"Yeah, um, I'm awake," I told her. I heard the crack of gum from the speaker and a deep sigh.

"That's nice. I will send a doctor up right now ma'am. Don't move please," replied the secretary. I removed my hand from the call button and stared up at the ceiling. I had gotten to the fifty-third tile before the doctor walked in.

"Miss Watson, it's good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?" he asked. I smiled at him.

"As though I've plunged into the Thames, and had my arm broken again," I replied wryly. The doctor laughed.

"At least your humor hasn't suffered. Would you like to know your symptoms?"

"Yes please."

"All right then. You did break your arm again, as you so cleverly figured out. When you were trying to swim, your almost healed arm shattered, and then broke in another place. You're going to be stuck in the cast for a while. You also have pneumonia. Thankfully, it isn't life threatening. You are a lucky girl Miss Watson. Would you care to share what happened? All we could figure out is you and Mr. Holmes went swimming in the Thames," the doctor requested. I leaned back onto the pillows and closed my eyes.

"Holmes is here too?" I whispered. The doctor sighed.

"I am afraid so. Not as bad as you, we think. He had a especially long and deep cut across his arm. His muscles in that arm won't be the same, but aren't that bad. He also had a shallow cut on his chest. And pneumonia of course. He is fine, and sleeping right now," the doctor told me. I nodded.

"Of course. Will my arm ever be the same?"

"No. It will be stiff for a very long time, and whenever the weather changes you'll feel it in your arm, right where you broke it," answered the doctor. I didn't nod this time, just allowed the morphine to take me off into the land of dreams.

"Thank you doctor," I managed to say before I drifted off again.

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I opened my eyes again later that night. The rooms lights had been turned off, and it looked rather sinister. I rubbed my eyes delicately and slapped at the call button again.

"What is it now Miss Watson?" asked the nasal nurse. I scowled in the darkness.

"I'm awake again. I just have a few questions, if you would care to answer them," I responded. The nurse sighed angrily.

"Fine Miss. What is it you want to know?"

"First of all, could you tell me the room number of Sherlock Holmes?"

"One moment please," nasal nurse said. I propped myself up on the pillows and waited for her answer. After a minute or two the nurse called back.

"He's in room 214, ma'am," she told me. I nodded even though she couldn't see me.

"And his condition?"

"I believe he is sleeping again, all though he awoke earlier, about an hour after you."

"Thank you. Is Miss Irene Holmes here?" I asked. I could here the nurse typing rapidly. Perhaps she was a secretary, I reflected. 

"No she is not, ma'am. She stopped by earlier, however. She was the pretty one, with the mahogany hair, yes? And green eyes?"

"Yes nurse," I replied, testing my theory.

"I'm a secretary, ma'am. Miss Holmes stopped in, went to her brothers room, gave him something, and then left again. Also, your mother stopped in, and Charise Holmes did as well," the secretary answered. I sighed.

"What did my mother say?"

"Only that she didn't know why she permitted you to hang out with that boy, and that she wanted a call as soon as you awoke."

"All right. Miss..."

"Lerlaine."

"Miss Lerlaine, do you know the time?"

"It's nine in the evening ma'am."

"Thank you Miss Lerlaine. And please, call me Jenny," I muttered.

"All right, Jenny."

"One last thing, Miss Lerlaine," I remembered. The secretary cleared her throat.

"Yes?"

"May I go see Holmes?" I pleaded. She laughed, a pleasant sound compared to her talking voice.

"Of course. In fact, according to my fellow secretary, Miss Jodie, he called her and demanded to see you," laughed Miss Lerlaine. I smiled.

"Thanks."

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I stood at the doorway of room 214 and listened. I heard a thin voice talking rapidly to another lady, one with a dark voice. The thin voice I placed as Holmes, but the dark voice was one I didn't recognize. I knocked carefully and I heard the thin voice stop immediately.

"Never mind Jodie. She's here. Come in Watson!" Holmes yelled. I entered quietly and looked around. No one was there except Holmes, sitting on the bed.

"Holmes, who was in here?" I asked. He laughed quickly then cut off.

"No one except me and the useful call box. Jodie is the secretary who obeys my very pleas," Holmes answered. I smiled at him and moved toward him. He gestured for me to sit down on his bed and so I sat.

"What is it Holmes? Lerlaine said that you were demanding to see me," I got down to business. Holmes laughter died in his throat and he pulled out a piece of yellowed paper.

"This is from Irene. Read it," he whispered. I looked at him, shocked at how sad he seemed. I removed the paper from in between his fingers and opened it. It read:

_"My dearest Sherlock,_

"As the night fades, and I watch you lay in the hospital bed, I realize what I must do. This will be painful for both of us, I realize, but it must be done. 

_"I'm leaving, Sherlock. My mental health has deteriorated even farther. I can't feel love anymore. Before, when I was younger, I at least knew it was there. I didn't believe in it, though. But when you hugged me last night, I felt nothing. Not even relief. I felt as empty as I had when I was alone._

"Thank you for your love. I know I couldn't return it, but it was there. Thank you for saving me from Robert. I am quite sorry about the injuries you and your Jenny obtained. I never meant to let him hurt you. I didn't mean for anything to actually happen. I'm very sorry.

"Keep good care of Jenny. You to are so sweet together, that I almost missed love. She is a good kid, and I hope you two end up going out. I know you are, you can't hide anything from a Holmes! I'll be somewhere in Vienna. Please, don't try and find me. You'll just push me farther into the dark. My old friend recommended a good physiatrist, and I will be with him. I promise I'll return. I promise. Good bye Sherlock. I care about you deeply."

It was signed "Your Melancholy Sister, I.R. Holmes". I looked at Holmes and saw that he was very upset.

"I'm sorry Holmes. But maybe it's for the best," I said. Holmes looked at me sadly.

"How can it be for the best, Watson? My sister is gone forever, as is my mother," Holmes asked. I heard the pain in his voice and ended up pulling myself up next to him.

"She said she would come back, Holmes," I reminded him. Holmes shook his head.

"Irene won't. She will never come back. And even if she does, she will still be lost to me," Holmes groaned. I moved closer to him still.

"What do you mean?"

"Irene will be different. I want her to get help, but if she comes back, she'll no longer be Irene. She'll be very different. And besides, Irene is to independent. If she is cured of her problem, she'll then want to explore the earth. Or something equally ridiculous," Holmes snorted. I hugged him, and for a change he actually hugged me back.

"They always leave. Always. You're the last thing I have left," Holmes said so softly that I almost didn't hear him. I don't think he wanted me to, so I didn't reply, just hugged him tighter.

The doctors later found us sleeping together, me with tear tracks down my face, and Holmes with the saddest expression in the world on his face. 


	11. Poetry Again

The final chapter! Finally! I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. I grew busy, and I had to get my new glasses. Now I can see what I'm writing, which is always a good thing.

Now, as for what I'm writing next. I have gotten numerous requests (more than I even dreamed of), and I certainly cannot do all at once. So here is what I'm going to do. Please do not get angry if your idea is not at the top of the list, because I will do it. The order is: A story from Holmes' point of view in Michigan. Then a story on the history of Sherlock Holmes, based on the papers from Darker Days. And finally, a 'normal' case in London. If you have anymore ideas, you know where and how to contact me, and I'll gladly add onto the list. And now, the last chapter!!!

Chapter Eleven: Poetry Again

The rain pounded against the roof of my house. Sleet slid down my windows. And I was inside, working on the enemy. My dreaded, and powerful enemy.

Poetry.

I stared down at the poetry book my teacher had given me and looked up at my partner, who stared out the window.

"Holmes? Come on, I need your help. I'm getting a 'D' in her class, and unless I can apply a poem to my life, there is no way I'm going to pass it. Now stop staring out the window and listen to me!" I shouted impatiently. Holmes snapped up and looked at me, a lackluster look in his eye.

"Grades aren't that important Watson," stated Holmes. I stared at him.

"Holmes, you base your entire life around grades," I informed him. He shrugged.

"Not anymore."

Turning back at my book I looked at the poem before me. It wasn't that bad, considering it was a better writer. Edgar Allen Poe, a weird, creepy guy. And really bleak. Considering my mood, he was going to be the object of the poem I had to choose. I flipped open to the table of contents.

"Alone... no. Annabel Lee... no, that's just crazy. The Raven, nope, to much death. Eldorado. Ick, I hate that poem. I can't find anything! Holmes, what poem are you doing?" I asked. He pointed down toward his book listlessly. I turned around the book to see the author.

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Interesting name. What is the poem? Read it to me," I told him. Holmes took the book from my hand and flipped the pages. Clearing his throat quietly he began.

"My life is cold, and dark, and dreary.

"It rains, and the wind is never weary.

"My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past.

"But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast.

"And the days are dark and dreary." 

Holmes finished. I frowned and took the book from his hands.

"Holmes, you didn't finish it," I whispered. Holmes sighed again.

"What does it matter? The poem tells all. There is no hope, no future. Life is pointless. I think it reflects how my life is perfectly!" Holmes cried. I rolled my eyes.

"Holmes, stop being so melodramatic. Had you of read the last stanza, you wouldn't be so depressed. The poem finishes with the hope of a brighter day. Listen!"

"Be still, sad heart! And cease repining.

"Behind the clouds is the sun still shining!

"Thy fate is the common fate of all.

"Into each life some rain must fall.

"Some days must be dark and dreary!"

I lay aside the book and looked him straight into the eye.

"Holmes, I know you are sad about Irene. But you have to get over it. As the poem said, all lives have to suck sometimes. Bemoaning and pitying yourself doesn't help. You have to move on!" I commanded. Holmes moved away and took the black Poe book from my hand and smiled.

"Poe wrote the stories my grandfather of many greats disliked. He found them insufferably stupid. Well, he thought Dupin a not-so-bright fellow at any rate. But his poems were excellent. I believe that 'A Dream Within a Dream' will suit me perfectly, with 'Rainy Day', the poem you just read from, a background information one. But as for you... how about something from Robert Frost?" Holmes sat down next to me. I smiled. His grief was gone, it was time to get down to business.

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Holmes got an 'A+' on his Poem Persona. I got an 'A-', but considering we couldn't find anything for me, I was lucky.

We did chose something from Robert Frost, a poem called 'The Road Not Taken'. It's about making choices in your life.

Irene did come back, quite contrary to her nature. She came back once while she was alive, and the final time she came back in a coffin. She had been killed in a train wreck. She was 23 years old. She was cremated, and in her will she asked to be thrown over the Atlantic Ocean. We did so.

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Four Years into the Future: 

The waves lolled against our already wet shoes. Holmes held the jar with Irene's ashes in it. Breathing deeply, he opened the jar and flung the ashes into the air.

The dying sun caught them in its rays, and they wafted magnificently down into the blue waves.


End file.
